


broken promises (mended promises)

by dirtyicicles



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Minor season 4 spoilers, Romance, Sweet, gross sweet porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 14:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12390399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyicicles/pseuds/dirtyicicles
Summary: “I love this.”Quiet, barely there, Shiro's voice perked over the subtle hum of the projected map between them.Keith flicked his gaze up, a lazy smile plucking at the corner of his mouth.“Love what?”“This.”





	broken promises (mended promises)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. It's 5am where I'm at, and my eyes are bleeding. But I had a lot of feelings, and I wanted to write them somehow. I grappled with writing their interactions at the end of season 4, but I decided to one up myself with their interactions BEFORE that dreaded mission. That scary, awful mission. 
> 
> Worst moment of my life, dude. 
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoy. ✨

“I love this.” 

Quiet, barely there, Shiro's voice perked over the subtle hum of the projected map between them. 

Keith flicked his gaze up, a lazy smile plucking at the corner of his mouth. 

“Love what?” 

“This.” 

The word was paired with a shrug of Shiro's shoulders, his bright eyes catching the blue lights of the transparent planet floating next to him. “I don't know. It's just us, it's quiet...it's nice. And I love it.” 

Keith snorted, swiping his thumb across his tablet. He didn't press, he didn't argue. His already soft smile threatened into something larger, a reaction he fought. A reaction he failed to keep at bay. Keith pretended a grin wasn't there, ducking his head and turning his shoulder towards Shiro instead. 

“It is a rare moment when we do get to be like this, yes. Even more so nowadays.” 

His words hung heavy in the air, and it was a moment later that whatever mood Shiro had built, Keith had managed to kill. A new record, really. He balked, rubbing at the corner of his mouth with a gloved finger. “I really am sorry about all of this, by the way.” 

“Don't be.” Keith could hear the smile, see the dimples in Shiro's cheeks, and he allowed the gentle reassurance to wash over him like warm honey. “I understand where you're coming from, Keith. I'll admit, having you go radio silent on us all when we needed you was...well, not ideal, but it did manage to work out in the end. I suppose I can't be too angry.” 

Shiro stepped in beside Keith, and his warmth weighted itself against his shoulder. Keith turned to face the gentle clasp of Shiro's human hand, and he leaned into it. Only a brief moment's hesitation passed before he reached for Shiro, fingertips brushing against the back of his knuckles. 

“You still are.” 

A fact. 

“It's unreasonable of me.” 

Another one. 

Keith sighed, letting the light die on his device. He tucked it into his pouch, allowing his fingers to twirl around Shiro's and be held there, clasped between them as Shiro moved to be his everything instead. 

“It's also selfish of me. I just want you here again. But I know you hate hearing that.” 

Keith's expression turned rueful, and Shiro's words echoed in him with an undesirability. “I do. But you can say it. It's...it's nice hearing that, from you.” 

Shiro chuckled, brushing his thumb along the ripple of Keith's tendons. It graced each mound at the start of his fingers, rubbing the soft, tender flesh in between each digit, massaging down to the palm of Keith's hand. He spread his fingers wide, turning his hand up and watching as Shiro caressed it between his. 

“I suppose there is a fault to being the leader of Voltron. There's a certain guise I have to keep up. No favorites.” 

“Just like back in the day.” 

Shiro laughed again, a nervous bite that hit the back of his teeth and crumbled before it even breached the space between them. “Uh...yeah. You're right. God, I'm so sorry Keith.” 

“No.” Keith moved to interrupt, finally flicking his gaze up to meet Shiro's. “No, no, it's fine. Things are different. It's not like we're sneaking through dark hallways again, lying to everyone we know about...well, us.” 

He sighed, rolling his jaw at the very thought. Memories buried at the bottom of a still lake bubbled to the surface, and Keith swallowed them down with the ball that formed at the back of his throat. Not now. 

“You're right,” Shiro agreed. “But that doesn't change the fact that things are different. I should be trying harder. I...I should have asked you to stay, earlier. I'm sorry, Keith.” 

The words stuffed themselves down Keith's throat, smothering his own before he had a chance to retaliate. He blinked, his mauve gaze flashing down. There was a tremble there he didn't want to be seen. 

Shiro plucked him up by the chin anyway, a gentle suggestion that had their eyes meeting in the middle again. “I'll make it up to you, Keith. One of these days, when I can finally hold fast to my promise, I will. Thank you so much for being so patient with me, Keith.” 

Shiro was closer. He'd stepped in without Keith noticing, filling the empty space between them and making for a humid atmosphere. It was late, and Keith could tell by the scent of Shiro's breath. He was sure his own wasn't much better. 

The thought made him smile, and he shook his head. He playfully pushed at Shiro's chest with the palm of his hand, turning a coy glance from the corner of his eye to the other. 

“Shut up. You were always terrible with your promises.” 

“Hey!” 

Mocking a kicked puppy, Shiro feigned offended as he fought Keith's shove. “At least I remember them, right?” he asked, clasping Keith's slender fingers, bringing them to the side of his cheek. 

Keith cupped it, expression softening. “I doubt that.” 

There was a recoil in Shiro's eyes that even Keith hadn't anticipated. Silence brushed over them like the wind before the prairie storms, and for a split second, Keith teetered on the edge of Shiro's _actually offended._

“I'm sor-” 

Cut off by a kiss, Keith's apology turned to a messy shamble against Shiro's lips. 

“Don't be,” he murmured. “I've been a terrible partner.” 

“No.” Keith mouthed the word, his voice ghosting against Shiro's bottom lip. “No. God, just...no. I'm sorry. I know you remember them. I know you remember _us.”_

Shiro mouthed his smile, his hands brushing down Keith's arms. They grabbed his wrists, holding them with curled fingertips aimed for Keith's palms. Keith met them halfway, back arched towards the examination table behind them. 

“I remember your favorite color.” It was whispered, and Keith ate the words up in another kiss. “I remember the coffee you used to make in the morning. God awful, straight up black roast. I remember you offered me a cup and I actually gagged. Somehow you had snuck vodka in there.” 

Keith snorted, shaking his head. Shiro mimicked the movement, rubbing their noses together, his hands squeezing Keith's. “I remember you chewed me out that morning,” Keith said, somewhat indignant. “It was a stressful day! I had-” 

“An exam in half an hour. I know. I remember, Keith. I remember. You know what else I remember about that day?” Shiro's voice was playful, his tone still brushing against Keith's upper lip. He mouthed lazily at it between words, and the hairs on the back of Keith's neck stood to attention. 

“I remember your messy hair,” Shiro continued, letting go of one of Keith's hands. He reached for Keith's hip instead, sliding his palm over a protruding hipbone. It tickled and it teased, and Keith playfully swatted him away. 

“I remember your eyes. They were all glossy and glazed. You had slept in, and woke up in a panic when I walked in the room. Part of that was my fault, though.” Shiro pushed for Keith's ass, his grip dragging him forward and closing what little distance remained between them. 

Keith felt the air push from his chest in a stuttered exhale, his hips shifting against Shiro's. What felt like merely teasing motions were met in full, and Keith fought a groan as Shiro rolled against him, guiding him towards the edge of the table. 

Keith's lower back hit the edge, and it bit into the muscle, grounding him. Shiro's lips moved from his, brushing against his jawbone, to the fluttering vessel at the side of his neck. Shiro mouthed at it, breath hot against the skin, teeth pinching it gently in tender suckles. 

“I also remember what you had asked for, with that money from the mission.” 

Keith only grunted, half there. Shiro rolled against him like thunder, and Keith was reduced to thoughtless rutting, fingers curling against Shiro's hips. 

“You wanted a ring.” 

“What?” 

Shiro leaned back, eyebrow arched. His hand pressed flat to Keith's chest, admiring the stutter of his heartbeat underneath his breastbone. “And here you were berating _me_ for not remembering our promises.” 

“Shut up.” Keith's was a playful, albeit impatient, jab. “I seriously don't remember that.” 

“I _told_ you not to drink that booze...” 

Shiro laughed, leaning into Keith's hand as it pushed at the side of his face. “Seriously though, you don't remember?” 

Keith flicked his gaze down between them. His eyes watched the zipper at the front of Shiro's chest, and he was tempted to talk in the way of teeth clicking against metal as he undid it with his mouth. “I don't. I remember that exam kicking my ass, though.” 

Shiro hummed, leaning close to press their foreheads together. “I remember that, too.” He smiled. 

Keith wanted to vomit. 

“Keep doing that,” he muttered, something to distract himself with. He jerked his hips up again, moving them into a rhythm to entice Shiro to join him. 

“This isn't the best place for that,” Shiro said, voice dipped low to a husk. Keith shivered. 

“It's fine. Not like anyone else is up, anyway.” 

“Mm.” 

Shiro kissed him again, sucking the swell from Keith's chest. It was a different kiss from the usual, slow and tender in the way their noses bumped and brushed together with each movement. Shiro's hand on his ass suddenly became more obvious as it stroked a lazy circle against the muscle, grabbing tight and pulling. Keith moaned at the pressure, lips parted as Shiro enticed his leg by the thigh to wrap around him. 

“I love this,” he muttered, again. 

“I know.” Keith's back arched, and he held Shiro by the front of his vest. 

“I love _you._ ” 

A confession in time in memoriam. Keith had lost track of how many times they'd uttered that phrase. He only remembered them in bursts, the kind of memories that rendered his heart into a bleeding wound. 

Their first time. 

Their first, first time, when Keith barely knew how to suck a cock. He'd been on his knees, and hadn't showered in two days. Yet, he'd tried. And with fingers tangled in messy, greasy hair, Shiro had told Keith he loved him. 

Fill the gaps to when Shiro had to leave, and the memory was as stark as white was against black. Ironic, considering Keith remembered the day in those exact colors. 

_See you soon. I love you._

Keith bit down on Shiro's lower lip, hard and _harsh._ Shiro gasped, lingering still, his grip tightening on Keith's thigh. The other, the cool, metallic feel of his robot fingers brushed against his neck, holding fast to the nape and tugging it back at the hair. Keith felt himself jerk backwards, and Shiro's tongue was on his throat, trailing up his Adam's apple and stopping short just above it. 

“God, Keith.” 

His voice was a murmur, a vibration of atoms connected to his own and reminding him of what the universe was really there for. Keith rolled his jaw, licked his lips, and spread his legs. A silent resignation. A white flag. 

Shiro's hand slipped down his neck, underneath the hood that lie like a mantle at Keith's neck. Shiro was the first to find and play with a zipper, tugging Keith's down the curve of his spine. Keith shuddered at the slide, arms working to rid himself of the top half of his suit. 

_“Keith,”_ Shiro breathed, lifting him just long enough to slip the black fabric from Keith's hips. Keith hit the table with a dull thud, a ripple spreading up his spine as the cold air settled in around his shoulders. A cold air that didn't linger for long as Shiro leaned into his shoulder, his warm lips roaming the scar that painted his skin like a lightning bolt. 

Shiro's hands went back to Keith's hips, thumbs rubbing the dips of his bone. Keith's navel shivered, and he shifted his weight onto the heels of his palms planted firm against the table behind himself. Mindlessly, he shut the projection of the map off; being vulnerable and open led to some strange paranoia, one of which was being judged by an imaginative colony on some planet whose name he couldn't pronounce. Weird guys, those strange slime people were. 

But they were gone just as soon as Keith had thought of them, the front of his head filled with Shiro and his hand. His flesh hand had moved between them and grabbed Keith by the base, fisted and pumping his hardening shaft. 

“Fuck,” Keith hissed, jerking into the motions with a heady gasp. “Don't stop,” he stammered, shifting warily. The protest in his wrists crawled up his arms like a vine caressing a brick wall: slow and steady, and dutifully ignored. 

“More?” Shiro gasped, pulling back from Keith's neck. He could feel the residue of saliva, the subtle sting of having his pale flesh sucked. Keith nodded mindlessly, kicking his suit entirely from his legs as Shiro stepped away. 

Keith's suit hit the floor with a whisper, and he followed it, leaning forward from where he sat with outstretched hands. Keith caught Shiro's buckle in his fingers, knocking his hand away and tugging it apart. Keith relished in the clink of metal, the cracking crease of leather. He closed the space between them again, leaning forward with mouth hanging open to grab Shiro's zipper between his teeth. 

Shiro chuckled breathlessly at his momentary fumbling, and Keith gave up halfway before resigning himself to fingers. They caught the slider, and the hum of metal working against studded teeth ceased as it hit the bottom. 

Shiro shirked the vest, letting it fall to the mess on the floor. 

“Here,” he breathed, shameless as he tugged a bottle from his inner pocket before he let go of it. Keith didn't have to look to know what it was. Keith pretended he didn't have the very same thing in his own pouch, upon the floor. 

“Apart.” Shiro accentuated the word with a palm to the inside of Keith's thigh, spreading his legs and stepping between them. Keith leaned back onto his hands, dropping eventually to his elbows. Shiro's eyes roamed his chest, his abdominals, landing briefly on Keith's cock. It stood hard and flushed against his stomach, and Keith fought the burning blush as Shiro lingered more on admiration than action. 

“Come on,” Keith breathed, kicking the heel of his foot against Shiro's still-clothed ass. He laughed, hurriedly shaking his gloves from his fingers before working the top of the bottle. 

“I know, baby.” 

There was the crumpled sound of worn plastic as Shiro squeezed the bottle, and a puff of air bubbling before the liquid wrought a snort from Keith's lips. 

“Almost out,” he mused, eyes closed and head leaned back. 

“Probably our last round, with this guy. We'll have to give him a real warrior's funeral.” 

“Oh? Set it on fire and launch him into- oh fuck, Takashi, _yes.”_

A cold finger prodded at Keith's exposed hole, the muscle clenching at the sudden intrusion. Keith reached down underneath a thigh, grabbing himself from underneath the knee to spread himself wider. Shiro hummed his appreciations, and Keith fought the burn in his chest as he felt himself devoured underneath Shiro's gaze. 

Shiro pushed in, playing at the tight ring of Keith's entrance. “It's been a moment,” he breathed, leaning low over Keith. Despite the height of the table, the man was still tall enough to be face to face with Keith, his breath puffing out against his lips. “God, Keith, you're _tight.”_

He pushed in, choking Keith's words on a muffled gasp. He nodded, desperately so, pushing down with Shiro's intrusion. There was only a single finger, but it curled just right, brushing into that patch of bundled nerves that made his thighs tremble with each passing movement. 

Keith grabbed and held onto Shiro's waist. Nails dug faintly into his ribs, between them, a silent demand. Shiro pushed another finger in, and Keith swore his allegiance to a god he'd never believed in. A third followed, and Keith suffocated on a hiccup. 

“Keith...” 

“Shiro,” he echoed, rubbing the heels of his palms against Shiro's ribcage, his chest. Shiro heaved, pushing deep to the knuckles. Keith whimpered, and the silhouettes of the stars he'd been looking at prior sparkled in his eyes. 

Shiro pulled himself back, leaving Keith wan and suddenly empty. There was a moment of rustled silence, and Keith's drifting knees were pushed apart again as Shiro reappeared in his field of vision. He'd let his pants fall to his ankles, and Keith noted the crown of his cock, streaked with the errant dribble of precum. 

“Shiro,” he whispered, his chest heaving. Shiro hissed as he grabbed himself, sparing only two seconds to ready himself. 

He held fast onto Keith's thighs, spreading them wide. Keith held his breath, letting it slip free, ragged, as Shiro pressed in. 

Fingers were one thing, and Shiro was another entirely. 

“Fuck.” Shiro swore the word, and once more as he found himself flush to Keith's hips. Keith squirmed, shoulder blades pressed firm to the table, rolling uncomfortably against its hard surface. Shiro bent low over him, propped against an elbow and moved, slowly. 

Keith's entire framework groaned underneath the pressure. Shiro whined, a pathetic noise that buried itself in the side of Keith's neck. Keith met it with a labored gasp, fingernails digging into tight knots lacing the underneath of Shiro's skin like spiderwebs. He worked at them, dug into them, the hollows of his hips fluttering as he moved with Shiro. 

His rhythm was an example. A subtle pounding that bore into Keith and threatened to split him open. Keith turned and bit the outer shell of Shiro's ear, labored breathing hot as it brushed against his ear canal. 

“Harder,” he muttered. 

“Keith. Oh god, Keith.” Shiro was holding back, and Keith bit back with a firm thrust down. Shiro didn't seem keen on keeping up with previous fantastical, teasing fantasies, and he leaned back to gaze into Keith's dark, glazed eyes. 

Keith nodded, wrapping a leg tight around the back of Shiro's thigh. “Shiro,” he mouthed. “Shiro...” 

There was a _fuck me, fuck me until I bleed_ sentiment to the name, one Keith didn't think he had the energy of spitting out with it. But Shiro was, if anything, attentive. Shiro wanted it just as much as Keith did, and Shiro found just as much pleasure in flaying himself alive as Keith did. He hardened his thrusts and interrupted Keith's mantra with a grateful moan, and his nails picked at old wounds lacing Shiro's back like an embroidery. 

“Keith,” he gasped, his words filling the silence between the slap of skin against skin. 

“Shiro,” Keith echoed, growing desperate as he felt himself slide against the table. There was a pounding bounce that made him look utterly ridiculous, he was sure.

Shiro caught his mouth in another kiss, hands planted firmly on either side of Keith's head. He rolled into Keith, rolled as far as he could, rolled into what felt like a merging of two bodies so desperate to just live in each other's skins. 

Keith clutched Shiro tight by the waist, his trembling legs signaling a release that finally coiled his strung body and arched him against his lover. He buried his screams of Shiro's name into Shiro himself, the tears he hadn't noticed slipping from the corners of his eyes and into the sweated mats of his hair. 

Keith came with Shiro. Shiro pushed deep to the point Keith felt sick, leaving him painted white and utterly trembling by the time they exhaled the last of their energies. 

“I love you,” Shiro said, adding to the mountain of countless loves that had ever graced their fleeting, sacred grounds. “God, Keith, I _love_ you.” 

He coupled the words with kisses, dragging them from Keith's mouth, down to his collarbones. They hung there like a necklace, and Keith tangled his fingers in the soft, white forelock of Shiro's hair, hugging him close. 

“I love you too, Takashi,” he managed, the words coming as easily to him as an expanding black hole engorged itself upon the universe. “God, Shiro...I love you, too.” 

A love he knew would be the death of him, someday. 

But Shiro leaned up again, turning to kiss Keith's fingers. There was a silent promise behind those lips that worked their way down his stomach and his abdomen. Shiro wrapped his ring finger around Keith's, sealing that silent promise in succulent, tender moments that kept them up until the Altean morning.


End file.
